Wednesday, June 23, 2010

there is no negotiating with an eight-month old.

Today we went to a restaurant with two children, and were there until Julia's usual bedtime.

I know. I know.

Thankfully, the restaurant has a lot of ambient noise, so Julia's protest squawks were muted. I had brought a few toys to hand her as I stuffed food into my mouth, in hopes that I would run out of food before I ran out of toys.

I did not.

I scoured the table for options. Chopsticks? Not safe enough. Spoon at the drink station? Twenty seconds, then flung to the side. Napkin? Too shreddable.

Aha, I thought, in a moment of desperation. I pulled out my hair clip and handed it to Julia.

It bought me a precious two minutes.

One shudders to think: had I needed to stay in the restaurant, and she had been squawking a little more, what else would I have been willing to part with? Shoes? Cell phone? Car keys? Engagement ring? Well, not that last one.